Another Day at the Office
by Flaignhan
Summary: Being a receptionist tended to be a nice, safe job. Being Martha Jones' receptionist on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.


**Another Day at the Office.**

**by Flaignhan.

* * *

**

Sian Dobson had seen some strange things in her time. She had seen space ships crashing into Big Ben, robots getting sucked into Canary Wharf, shop window dummies coming to life, and she had seen the President get assassinated on live television. Surely, after all that mess with Harold Saxon things would calm down a bit? Surely things could not become stranger?

But then Martha Jones had joined the surgery. Lovely, kind Martha Jones, always up for a laugh, always friendly, always willing to help. The strange things that Sian had seen were rather big events, she hadn't seen them up close (well, except for the shop window dummies when she'd been trying to buy a dress for Chantelle's wedding, but they'd been all over the place). However, since Martha Jones had joined the surgery, strange things seemed to lock onto the place.

She wasn't going to complain though, so far, most of these incidents had involved at least one handsome bloke, quite often the skinny one with the hair that wouldn't stay still. Sometimes the American one turned up, occasionally on his own, occasionally with a couple of women and another, slightly less handsome (but still rather handsome) bloke who would always try it on with her before he left.

She had been pinning up a poster on heart disease while she chatted to Mrs Mulcahey when the skinny bloke had first burst into the waiting room, barefoot with both his arms hanging limply by his side. He'd asked to see Martha Jones, his face screwed up in pain, and Sian had rushed to fetch Martha, whose eyes widened when she saw the skinny bloke. As Martha had led him into her office, Sian had heard her say "What on Earth have you done now?"

* * *

"Abraxas Twelve," he grunted. "Committed a bit of a social faux pas at a fertility festival, and it's _not_ what you're thinking, Martha Jones."

"I didn't say anything!" Martha replied defensively, closing the door behind them. "Hop onto the bed, then."

"Well that's what I said -"

"You what?"

"Joking! I didn't really!"

"You are _terrible_," Martha told him, taking off his jacket and tie before she unbuttoned his shirt so she could inspect his shoulders.

"Says she who's undressing me," the Doctor retorted, a smug grin on his face.

"Tell me when it hurts," Martha said, ignoring him. She prodded his right shoulder and he yelled. "Yep, thought so, dislocated." She prodded the other one and elicited a similar reaction. "Yeah, this one too."

"Did you really need to be so vicious?"

"Yes, if you're going to be infuriating. Brace yourself," she jammed his shoulder back into place and he let out a sigh. He twisted slightly so she could reach the other one and let out another sigh when this shoulder was once more in its rightful place.

"That..." he began, almost speechless, "that is better than..."

"Yes?" Martha asked.

"Better than strawberries and cream at Wimbledon." Martha smiled.

"How did you fly the Tardis?" Martha asked as she helped him pull his shirt back on. He lifted up his legs and waggled his toes. "Seriously? You did it with your feet?" he winked at her and she tied his tie for him. "You're going to need some painkillers, and some rest," she told him. "I would sort you out with some slings if I knew you wouldn't take them off as soon as you got out of here."

"Well, I can't save the universe with no arms, can I? It's different when your hands are tied behind your back, but two arms completely out of action is another thing altogether! Pass us the Sonic Screwdriver." Martha reached into his jacket pocket and ignored his smirk. "I said pass me the Sonic Screwdriver, I didn't say grope me." Martha frowned and placed the back of her hand across his forehead. "What are you doing?" he demanded, slightly indignant at this treatment.

"I think that fertility festival's done something to your head," she replied. "You are a bit warm..."

"That's because you humans are hell bent on destroying the environment by turning the heating up to about fifty degrees! Get out of it!" he waved her hand away.

"Well if you're sure you're okay..." Martha said in a tone which obviously suggested that it was against her better judgement to let him go off again. He was fiddling around with the Sonic Screwdriver.

"Painkiller and anti-inflammatory. Back to normal," he explained as the Sonic Screwdriver whirred. He rolled his shoulders before nodding decisively. "Yep, absolutely ship shape! Thanks Martha!" he jumped off the bed and left the office before Martha could even think the words 'you're welcome' and a few minutes later, when she was listening to Mrs Mulcahey complain about her arthritis, Martha heard the distinctive sound of the Tardis dematerialising, and the thought of him piloting it with his feet made her giggle, much to Mrs Mulcahey's displeasure.

* * *

Admittedly, that incident hadn't been _too_ strange, but it wasn't everyday that someone stumbled into the surgery with two dislocated shoulders and no shoes. Sian had spent a lot of time wondering how he could have ended up in that state, and she would have been happy with the conclusion that it had been a mugger with a shoe fetish, but as time went on, Sian realised that that man didn't get his injuries from simple events.

The first time the super gorgeous American in the RAF coat had turned up, Sian hadn't paid much attention to what was going on. He'd waltzed up to the counter, asked quite politely whether it was possible that he could see Martha Jones, smiled that perfect smile when she'd said yes, he could go straight in, and had winked at her, making her rather weak at the knees.

It was lucky that she hadn't paid much attention. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed a semi conscious alien being dragged in through the door by the not so handsome (but still fairly handsome) bloke and a woman with dark hair, followed by a pretty Japanese woman whose eyes were fixed on a hand held computer.

* * *

"Jack, you can't just come in when you please bringing God knows what with you when I'm supposed to be working..." Martha said exasperatedly.

"We've run out of tranquilisers, he's gonna wake up pretty soon, have you got any?"

"No, we don't keep them here," Martha told him. She sighed and sat down at her desk, tapping away at her keyboard. A sheet of paper emerged from the printer and Martha handed it to Jack. "The pharmacy is just down the road. Go out of here, turn right and it's next door to the bank."

"Martha Jones, you are wonderful," Martha smiled tiredly and stood up.

"What are you even doing over here, anyway?"

"Since Torchwood two was destroyed, we've sort of branched out a bit. We share England with Torchwood one," Gwen answered. "This one's been going round tearing up houses and giving people some nasty bites."

"Yeah, don't worry if anyone comes in with something that _looks_ like malaria but isn't _quite_ malaria," Owen told her. "It's just old alien boy here. Clears itself up after a few days. Nothing to worry about." Jack was frowning at the prescription.

"John Smith?" he asked.

"Yeah, shoved it on the Doctor's medical record." Jack grinned.

"The Doctor's got a medical record?"

"Made a social faux pas at a fertility festival," Martha explained, "turned up here with both his shoulders dislocated."

"Sounds like my idea of a good time!" Jack replied. Martha rolled her eyes and chivvied them out of her office. After all, she still had to see Mr Vellow, and she'd rather get that over and done with.

"Poor chap," Mr Vellow wheezed when he entered Martha's office a few moments later. "Burnt in a fire, was he?"

"Yeah," Martha replied, glad that Mr Vellow had come to his own, rational conclusion about the alien. "Shame, he's a nice man. Anyway, how's that rash doing? Any better?"

* * *

It had seemed quite normal when a red head had come in and asked to see Martha Jones. Yes, it was a little strange that she hadn't noticed Martha, who was frowning at a bit of paper only a few feet away from the red haired woman, but perhaps they hadn't seen each other for a while, perhaps Martha had changed a lot over the last few years.

"That's me," Martha had said, after the red head had asked to see her. "How can I help?"

The really strange thing had come just after Martha had caught the red head's attention. "Really?" Martha had nodded. "Blimey, the way he goes on about you I thought you'd be walking on water or something. Don't look like much of a superhero to me! But then again, neither does he, whiny little rat." And if that wasn't enough, Martha's expression had changed at these words, from one of confusion to a wide grin, her face lit up with glee. "Yep, he said you had a nice smile. It's you. Can I have a word?" And with that, the red head dragged Martha off into the office.

The phone rang.

"Hello, doctor's surgery, how can I help?"

"Are you all right, dear? You don't sound at all well."

"I'm fine, thank you, Mrs Gibson. What can I do for you?"

* * *

"He said I've got a nice smile?" Martha asked, not needing to ask who 'he' was. "Really?"

"Yeah. Said a lot of other things too. Doesn't shut up about you, but at least he's a bit more cheerful this time around. Anyway, he's got a message for you." The woman handed over what Martha instantly recognised as the psychic paper and Martha flipped it open.

_Show the Doctor's message. Show the Doctor's message. Oh shit, what was the Doctor's message? Something about incompatible physiology and those _things_ but what was it?_

Martha laughed and moved over to the phone, dialling the number of her old mobile. When the Doctor answered, he did so in a slightly strangled voice. "She's forgotten my message, hasn't she?"

"Yeah," Martha said with a smile. "What's wrong?"

"I've had an allergic reaction, and now I've got some tentacles in a rather embarrassing place." Martha winced.

"You're on your own with this one, matey. Go and see Jack, I'm sure he'd be more than happy to assist." She put the phone down.

"Wise move," the red head said. "I'm Donna, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Donna."

"And you," Donna smiled before she spoke again. "I said to him, no one in their right mind is gonna sort out those tentacles, but he just said 'Martha Jones will, Martha Jones is brilliant' all of that nonsense – not that I'm saying you're not, of course, but you know how he is," Martha nodded knowingly, "so I just said to him 'no, I'm not going to ask the poor girl to do that for you on _top_ of all that walking she did, it's just not fair." Martha laughed, already liking Donna. "But then he told me he'd keep me in the Tardis for the rest of time if I didn't, and well, the thought of spending that long with him is enough to make me jump off a cliff, so going to find you to ask for a favour on his behalf wasn't too bad. I said to him, I said, you even think about keeping me here and you'll get a swift kick in the tentacles mate. He went pale at that, and I don't blame him really. Apparently they're _blue_."

"Oh my God..." Martha said in disbelief. "He's just...oh my God."

"Tell me about it," Donna replied. "Anyway, better be off, his Lordship will be wanting to go to the bloke whose hands never stop wandering."

"You've met Jack then?" Donna nodded with a roll of her eyes. "See you later, Donna."

"Yeah, see you later."

* * *

"I'd like to see Doctor Jones, please!" the skinny man had said cheerfully, a few days after the red head had come into the surgery. Sian looked down at the puppy near his feet.

"You can't bring pets in here Mr..."

"Smith," the skinny man had told her. "And I'll be in and out quick as you please; I just need a quick word with Martha."

"She's with a patient right now, Mr Smith, and – why hasn't that dog got a nose?"

"It wasn't born with one," Mr Smith had replied, as though this were obvious.

"But how does it smell?" Sian had asked.

"All right as long as you give it a bath every now and then." Mr Watson had then wandered out from the corridor where the doctors' offices were. "Ah! Excellent! Won't be long!" And with that, Mr Smith had walked briskly towards the offices, the small, noseless puppy bounding around at his feet.

* * *

"I see you're all right now," Martha commented without looking up when he entered the room.

"You haven't _seen_ anything," the Doctor retorted, gesturing to the notes she was poring over. "But yes, I am fine now. No thanks to you. Call yourself a doctor?"

"At least I've got a doctorate!"

"Ah, touché," the Doctor replied, a grin on his face. He sat down on the chair next to her desk and the puppy jumped into his lap.

"You can have that in here! This is a surgery!"

"Well I just wanted to show you what your thank you gift would have been had you helped me out when I was suffering from my embarrassing ailment." Martha tilted her head to one side and then glanced at the puppy. Her face softened immediately. She reached out a hand and started stroking him, scratching him behind his ears and earning herself a contented look.

"Why doesn't he have a nose?" Martha asked.

"He's from Barcelona, the planet, not the city." Martha nodded in understanding, still stroking the dog. "Feel free to do that to me anytime you want," the Doctor commented. Martha's hand left the puppy momentarily so she could whack the Doctor's thigh and then went back to stroking the small furry creature. "Ow! That hurt! But I suppose it was meant to, was it?"

"Got it in one."

"Go on Martha, ask me how it smells, go on, please, please!"

"No," she said, a massive smile on her face.

"Oh go on! Don't be a spoil sport!"

"No!" Martha said, giggling slightly. "I'm not going to give you the satisfaction!" The Doctor tutted and stood up, passing the puppy to Martha.

"You might as well keep him; the Tardis is no place for a dog."

"What does he eat?" Martha asked, hugging the puppy close to her.

"Pedigree Chum I suppose. And if he ever needs to go to the vet, give us a call and we'll take him to Barcelona." He leant over the dog, stroking its head and when he spoke again it was in a voice that middle aged women tended use when they fussed over a new baby. "We don't want them nasty human vets chopping you into pieces, do we? No we don't!"

"Has he got a name?" Martha asked.

"Yep! Dodger! Lovely, isn't it?" Martha grinned. "Until next time, Doctor Jones."

Once he had left, Martha realised that she was in quite a predicament. She had a waiting room full of patients that needed her expertise, and a dog without a nose who would undoubtedly be vying for her attention for the rest of the day. She picked up the phone and dialled a number.

"Mum...can you do us a favour?"

* * *

After a short while, Sian had gotten quite used to Mr Smith, the red head and the super gorgeous American and his gang dashing in and out of the surgery, but things had been taken to a whole new level when a large ship had appeared over the skies of London and strange looking creatures had parachuted down, without any explanation.

Martha had dashed out of her office when one had burst into the surgery, and she had stepped in front of it, looked it straight in the eye and then started talking to it in its own language. Sian had wondered whether these aliens spoke German or something, because how would Martha be able to speak an alien language?

Finally, Martha had pulled her mobile out of her pocket after a very angry exchange of words with the alien, and had dialled a number. In plain English, she had said into the phone "Get here now; we've got some visitors who haven't been taught any manners."

Barely even seconds later, Mr Smith had rushed in, had a short conversation with the creature, and it had walked out quite happily. Mr Smith had grabbed Martha and they had run out of the surgery. Just over twenty minutes later, the space ship had vanished.

Martha Jones had returned a short while later, out of breath but looking quite exhilarated, and Mr Smith had winked at her, given a small wave and then left. Sian had drawn her own conclusions from this, and decided that Martha Jones definitely had a fabulous love life.

Things had been taken to an even newer and stranger level when a blue box had appeared in the waiting room a short while after the surgery had closed for the day. Mr Smith had popped his head out of the door and grinned at Sian.

"Don't suppose Martha Jones is about, is she?" Sian was too shocked to respond, but it didn't matter, as Martha came into the waiting room, huge grin plastered on her face, and walked straight into Mr Smith's hug and the pair of them went inside the blue box which disappeared a few seconds after.

The phone rang.

"Hello gorgeous, Cap'n Jack Harkness here. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a drink this evening."

Sian would have thought it a pity that all her memories of Captain Jack as well as some of the odd happenings at the surgery had mysteriously disappeared, but as it was, she didn't miss what she didn't remember.

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
